RECIPE FOR HEARTBREAK

Chapter 5: The velvet chains

The next evening, a heavy black box arrives at the bakery door.

Inside is a deep emerald-green silk dress, a pair of black strappy heels, and a sleek silver envelope containing an address in the wealthiest district of the city.

No note. Gabriel doesn't need to write notes. His demands are loud enough.

By 7:30 PM, I’m standing in front of my bedroom mirror, looking at a girl I barely recognize. The emerald dress clings to every curve of my body like liquid silk, open at the back and cut low at the neckline. My hair is styled in loose waves, and dark lipstick masks the pale exhaustion on my face.

On my right wrist, I wear a heavy silver cuff Gabriel sent along with the dress. It feels like an iron shackle.

Downstairs, a horn honks twice. Gabriel’s driver is waiting.

Twenty minutes later, the luxury elevator opens directly into the penthouse floor of the Vance Tower.

The room is breathtakingly massive. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows look out over the glittering, rainy skyline of the city. High-society jazz music plays softly through hidden speakers, and dozens of wealthy elites in expensive tuxedos and designer gowns are sipping champagne near a marble bar.

I step out of the elevator, feeling completely out of place in my own skin.

"You look exquisite," a deep, smooth voice purrs behind me.

I turn around. Gabriel Vance is standing there, looking impossibly sharp in a black tuxedo. His dark hair is styled perfectly, and his grey eyes scan my body from head to toe with heavy, possessive approval.

He steps closer, wrapping his hand firmly around my waist. His touch is cool, dominant, and electric. "I knew emerald was your color."

"I'm here, Gabriel," I say quietly, keeping my head high. "Now tell me your demolition crew has been called off."

"The bulldozers were canceled the second you put on that dress," Gabriel whispers, his thumb lightly stroking my hip through the thin silk. "Relax, Maya. Tonight, you're not a stressed baker. You're my guest."

He guides me through the crowd, introducing me to city council members, luxury real estate investors, and rich socialites. Gabriel keeps his arm wrapped tight around me the entire time, making sure everyone in the room knows I belong to him. I smile, play the part, and nod politely, but inside, I feel like a caged animal.

Around 9:00 PM, Gabriel steps away to speak with a group of offshore investors near the bar.

I take the opportunity to slip away, stepping through a set of heavy glass doors onto the private outdoor balcony garden. The cool night air hits my warm face, smelling of rain and fresh pine. I lean against the stone railing, closing my eyes and taking my first deep breath of the night.

"You look like you need a drink," a smooth, familiar voice says from the shadows.

I snap my eyes open.

Stepping out from behind a large potted palm tree is Tristan Sterling. He’s wearing a sharp navy suit, holding two crystal flutes of champagne, a charming grin on his face.

"Tristan?" I blink, shocked. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you yesterday, I go to all the high-end events," Tristan chuckles, walking over to hand me a glass. "Although, I definitely didn't expect to see my favorite baker on the arm of Gabriel Vance."

"It's... complicated," I whisper, taking a small sip of the champagne.

"Complicated is one word for it," Tristan says softly, stepping closer to the railing beside me. The wind blows his dark hair around his face. He looks at me with a mix of fascination and warmth. "Vance is a shark, Maya. He collects pretty things and locks them in glass cases. You don't belong in a glass case."

"You don't know anything about my life, Tristan," I say, though my heart flips at the gentleness in his voice.

"I know you make the best pastries in this city," Tristan murmurs, reaching out to tuck a stray curl of hair behind my ear. His fingers are warm, his touch completely different from Gabriel’s dominant grip. "And I know I'd love to help you build an empire if you'd let me."

For a second, caught under his bright blue gaze, I forget where I am. Tristan makes me feel like a normal twenty-one-year-old girl instead of a drowning orphan. I lean slightly toward his touch.

Click.

The balcony doors swing open.

Gabriel steps out onto the rain-slicked balcony, a fresh glass of scotch in his hand. His grey eyes lock onto Tristan’s hand near my face, and the temperature on the balcony drops below zero.

"Sterling," Gabriel purrs, his voice laced with pure, lethal venom. "I suggest you take your hand off my date before I buy your distribution company and fire you by morning."